Victorian nurse poem coffee mug

A Nurse A nurse, a simple nurse; to the unthinking Only a nurse, and nothing but a name; A patient woman in her round of duty, Living and dying all unknown to fame. Only a nurse, a messenger of mercy, An angel sent unto our suffering race, With quiet step, and tender hand of healing, Divinest pity on her gentle face. When all the world lies wrapt in quiet slumber, Save the poor sufferer moaning on his bed, Whose watchful eye with patient love keeps vigil Through the long night with silent softened tread? Only a nurse, in duty all unshrinking; Before such scenes, man's stouter heart would quail; See there! That sweet, fair girl, in sorest trial Is at her post, nor will her courage fail. The fever we but terror-struck encounter, Or fly before with selfish, coward dread; While nurse and doctor hasten to the rescue, And stand unflinching by the stricken bed. Hark! That weird bell —an accident at midnight; The nurse and doctor, wakeful, close at hand, The minister to suffering or dying, The hospital's heroic little band! There you or I may in our need find refuge, With kindly help and loving tender care; Respect we'll give those brave, unselfish women, And night and day remember them in prayer. —E.M.C., 1886.